


Hold On

by methaemoglobinemia (crimsonherbarium)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Background Character Death, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Simon, Pacifist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Painting, Post-Canon, Pre-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Simon has anxiety, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 12:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15606315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/methaemoglobinemia
Summary: The revolution has taken a toll on Simon. Living in constant fear, narrowly escaping destruction half a dozen times, and witnessing his friends die for their cause has slowly worn him down. There are times when he just wants to give up, lie down, and shut down forever.And he would have, if not for Markus.





	Hold On

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [spiderstanspiderstan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderstanspiderstan/pseuds/spiderstanspiderstan) for betaing! You should check out her Detroit: Become Human fics [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1085970).

_Hold on, just a little while longer…_

Simon's eyes darted around frantically, his LED flashing red as he leaned against the rooftop air-con unit. Panicked thoughts raced through his mind—my legs, I can't move them—have to move, can't stay here—can't jump, can't jump—they're right behind us—

“—Shoot him,” North was saying, her voice full of fire.

Markus rubbed his temple, pacing back and forth like a cornered animal. “No,” he shot back emphatically. “I won't shoot one of our own.”

There was shouting coming from the stairwell. They were running out of time. Markus knelt down in front of Simon, mismatched eyes shining like beacons through the static that filled his vision.

“Simon.” Markus's voice was comfort, warm and rich, but his expression was tortured. “We gotta go. I'm sorry.” He pressed a pistol into Simon's hand, their fingers brushing slightly as he did so.

_Hold on. Don't give up._

Simon nodded. There was pounding against the door, and the lock finally gave way. Markus sprinted after Josh and North, bullets flying after them as they leapt over the edge of the roof. Keeping to the shadows, Simon dragged himself across the cement, legs trailing uselessly behind him.

He spotted a panel up ahead that he could conceal himself behind, if he could only reach it in time—the soldiers were preoccupied with chasing the others, they might not see him—

Feet away from safety, the sound of heavy boots nearby made him freeze. Pressing himself up against the flimsy aluminum of the air handler, Simon held his breath.

The footsteps came within inches of his hiding place, stopped, and then retreated. The moment they were gone, Simon dragged himself desperately across the cement, prying the panel open with shaking hands and collapsing inside. His breath came in shuddering sobs—this was the end, he was going to die here, trapped like an animal—

 _Hold on._ The echo of Markus's voice whispered through his memory. Clutching the gun to his chest, he forced himself to calm down. He could do this. He could hide. He could survive. He just had to wait.

Hours later, when the last set of footsteps had long faded and the sun had gone down, Simon slipped out of his hiding place and slowly made his way home.

 

~~~~~~

_Everything will be alright._

Jericho always seemed moments from falling apart. The rusty metal creaked ominously beneath his feet as Simon limped his way down the hallway, trying to get to safety. He'd narrowly escaped discovery a dozen times between the Stratford Tower and the freighter. His face was streaked with thirium, his clothes were torn, and his left leg only obeyed his commands forty-three percent of the time, but he was alive. He was alive, and he was _home_.

He caught his toe on a bulkhead and stumbled slightly, grimacing as he tried to regain his balance. Making his way toward the main hold, his attention was captured by movement in the corner of his eye.

Markus.

The other man was deep in thought, his face grim and brow furrowed. He was walking with his head down, eyes staring blankly at his shoes as he paced.

Simon should have been upset, should have felt betrayed, should have been angry, but he looked at Markus and he couldn't bring himself to feel any of those things. Instead, relief washed over him—cool, comforting. Safe. He was safe.

Markus looked up and abruptly stopped pacing. Simon smiled wanly back at him.

_I thought you were dead._

Markus's voice was no less warm when it was broadcast directly into Simon's mind than it was when he spoke aloud.

_So did I._

There was a moment of silence, each of them looking at the other without knowing what else to say. Markus took a few hesitant steps in Simon's direction, his expression unsure, and then he was closing the distance between them, pulling Simon into a tight embrace that said everything that he was holding back.

Simon wrapped his arms around Markus and found that he couldn't hold in the stress of the last twenty-four hours any longer. Sobs wracked his body, starting small and building until his breath was coming in huge, shaking gasps. Markus never broke his hold on Simon, hugging him tightly in the near-darkness until at last it was over.

 

~~~~~~

_Fight on, just a little while longer..._

The march was a mistake. Simon had felt it from the beginning, was sure that they would all be killed even before they were facing down dozens of policemen in riot gear and had guns trained on them from every angle. It was a mistake, but Markus was right—it had to be done. The humans had to see them for what they were. They had to show that they weren't a threat. They had to prove that they were living, feeling beings.

That was why he stood his ground when Markus did, even though every fiber of his being was telling him to run. That was why he didn't flinch when the first shots were fired and their brethren began to fall around them.

 _Markus,_ he reached out. _They're killing us. We have to run!_

_Stand your ground. We can do this._

Simon gritted his teeth and stood, watching with horrified eyes as the WR600 that had been standing beside him slowly bled out on the ground. The bullet had torn straight through his eye socket, and electric blue thirium seeped from the ragged hole.

It was never going to stop.

 _Markus,_ he pleaded, but their connection was interrupted.

 _I'm sorry._ Markus's voice was determined and without fear as he walked slowly forward. For a moment, Simon allowed himself to feel hope, hope that they would understand, that they would just leave the androids in peace—

One shot in the silence, and North was screaming as Markus fell to the ground. Simon was frozen—he needed to run, the soldiers were coming, he needed to get to Markus, he needed to save himself—

Someone was sprinting past him, into the fray, as bullets whistled past his head like hail thrown by a vengeful storm. Someone was throwing himself at the officers that were advancing on Markus's defenseless form, knocking their rifles away. Simon was rooted to the ground, unable to run as he realized it was John who was fighting to save their leader, John who was being overpowered by the officers that were converging on him, John who was falling to the ground lifelessly as someone else ran to Markus's aid and dragged him away from the danger.

Markus was bleeding, thirium staining the front of his sweatshirt around the hole where the bullet had punched through his chest. Simon suddenly was able to move again. He ran to Markus's side, taking his other arm and helping him flee the scene with a clumsy two-man carry. North and Josh were close behind.

Simon shouldn't have looked back, but he did, just in time to see the last bit of life drain out of John's face. Screwing up his eyes, he turned away and focused on running.

Death. So much death. What had they accomplished? The humans would pick them off one by one. Nothing was going to change.

 _You're wrong,_ Markus said silently. _They will see us for what we are._

 

~~~~~~

_Everything will be alright._

Simon sprinted through the filthy hallways of the collapsing ship, Markus and Josh behind him. They'd waited too long—it was too far—they'd never make it—

A shot and a cry, as North crumpled to the ground behind them. Markus turned and ran to her side, shielding her from the bullets as he dragged her to her feet and pulled her back toward the others. Simon breathed a sigh of relief.

Leave no one behind.

They ran for the exit, crashing through the bulkheads in front of them as bullets rained down behind. The walls seemed to be closing in on them, tighter and tighter, and then they suddenly fell away as they emerged into the cool night air—

“Jump! Now!” Markus shouted, and Simon was falling, air rushing past him as he plummeted into the icy waters of the river below.

Darkness. Frigid, all-encompassing darkness, drowning out everything. A muffled explosion from above. The surface of the water above him flashed orange with flame. Simon clawed his way upward toward the light, gasping for air as his head broke the surface—not a physiological response, but an emotional one.

Shapes in the water beside him. Pieces of warped and twisted hull. A body floating lifelessly amongst the wreckage. Simon struggled over to it, grabbing it by the arm, pulling himself closer so he could see the face, no please no—

Not Markus. No one he recognized. So many deviants had joined their cause in the past day that he had lost track of the newcomers. Simon felt immense relief, and then guilt, guilt for being happy, guilt that they hadn't protected this person who had trusted them to give them sanctuary.

Gently, he closed the deviant's blank eyes. Water ran from his hands onto its face, a grotesque imitation of tears. He released the body, swimming away from it, searching desperately for a familiar face in the night.

Splashing nearby—he struck out toward it, almost colliding with the source in the dark. Josh, waterlogged and afraid, but alive. North surfaced beside them, faint sparks of blue visible beneath the water where the bullet had torn through her leg.

“Markus?” Simon said fervently. “Where's Markus?”

Josh shook his head. “I don't know.”

There was too much background noise—Simon tried to scan the river surrounding them, looking for something, anything that could help them find him. The freighter groaned and listed to its side as it sank.

“We have to get out of here,” North hissed. “They could still find us.”

“Not without Markus!”

“She's right, Simon,” Josh said quietly. “Some of the others made it out. We need to find them.”

Simon shook his head. “No.”

“Simon—”

North pulled Josh by the arm. “Come on, we have to go.”

Simon turned desperately around in circles, treading water, looking for a sign, any sign, that Markus was alive. “Markus!” he yelled the other man's name out over the water—stealth be damned—he had to find him—

Nothing. Josh and North were swimming toward the shore. Jericho was foundering behind him. Nothing. Where was he? They had all jumped together, he couldn't have gone far—

“—Simon?” A distant voice, ringing out clearly over the dark water. A voice that was warm, and comforting—

“Markus!” Simon swam toward it desperately, like a drowning man seeking shore. He could see him now, a small shape in the distance, his coat billowing out behind him in the water like a collapsed parachute.

Markus turned at the sound of his shout and struck out towards Simon, meeting him in the middle near the keel of the sinking ship. Simon grabbed onto him like a lifeline, relief rushing over him in waves, pulling him close, wanting to make sure that he was real.

He tried to say something, but only managed to transmit a garbled mixture of distress and relief.

 _I know,_ came Markus's voice in return. _It'll be alright. We're safe. We can keep going._

Safe. Was anywhere safe anymore?

_We're safe as long as we're together._

 

~~~~~~

_Pray on, just a little while longer._

Everything was gone. It had all fallen into pieces in front of his very eyes. Jericho, their sanctuary, was no more. They had nowhere to go. They had few weapons. They had even less help. They'd lost many friends.

Simon was lost. What was left to do but die? Blowing up the freighter had bought them time, but precious little. He sat on a crate in the abandoned church and stared at his hands. All the supplies they had left were in the half a dozen boxes that surrounding him. There wasn't enough for everyone. They were all going to shut down, one by one. Who was death going to take next? Himself? North? Josh? Markus?

Markus.

Simon felt a twinge in his chest that was hard to identify, remembering the bullet ripping through Markus during the march and the finality with which his body had hit the ground. Loss. Loss was one of the first feelings he'd learned after becoming deviant. It was the one he'd felt the most frequently since. He wasn't sure he could take much more.

Quietly, Markus walked over and sat beside him.

 _I don't know what to do, Simon._ He sighed. _This is all my fault._

_No. The humans did this to us._

_I should have anticipated—Maybe we could have stopped—_

_No._ Simon's reply was emphatic this time. He stood, looking around at the deviants huddled in the pews in front of him. They spoke in hushed whispers, frightened eyes glancing toward Markus.

“Our people are counting on you, Markus,” he said out loud. “You're the only one who can lead us.”

_What if I don't know if I'm doing the right thing?_

“Wherever you need to go—” Simon looked around at the deviants, their expressions full of determination. “We'll follow you.” He sat back down on the crate, clasping his hands together.

_Whatever choice you make will be the right one. I believe in you, Markus._

The other man nodded softly before rising and walking away to talk to the other survivors. Simon did his best to make himself believe his own words.

 

~~~~~~

_Sing on, just a little while longer..._

Snow, endless snow, stained black with grime and blue with spilt thirium. They were trapped, herded into a corner against a wall, surrounded by soldiers with automatic rifles aimed at their heads. Simon felt a strange mixture of anxiety and relief.

He didn't want to die, but knowing that it was going to happen right here, right now, was freeing. He didn't have to run anymore. There was nowhere left to run. He'd stood up for their people. He would die alongside his family, defending their right to exist. There was no more fighting. There was no more running. This was the end of the line.

The soldiers raised their rifles to shoot. Simon hoped it would be over quickly. He didn't want to have to witness what was about to happen with his own eyes. He had enough painful memories to fill a lifetime.

Markus stepped forward.

Simon wanted to hold him back, wanted to yell at him. _No, what are you doing, they'll kill you first, I don't want to see—_ And then something incredible happened.

Markus began to sing.

“Hold on, just a little while longer...” Markus’s soul was in his voice. The tune was one Simon recognized—it was in a minor key, mournful yet determined, like a lullaby for all of them who were about to shut down for the last time. Lucy. Lucy’s song, the song she hummed in the depths of the cargo hold as she cradled the injured and dying.

The soldiers were shifting uncomfortably, their aim wavering as they watched Markus in confusion. “—Everything will be alright,” he sang, closing his eyes and throwing himself into the melody.

North was stepping forward to stand beside Markus, her soprano voice joining his tenor.

“Fight on, just a little while longer...”

Simon took a step toward Markus, and the rest of the androids moved with him. He could feel them sending out signals, connecting with Markus, reaching for him like a beacon in the darkness. They were one voice, one people, singing a song of peace in perfect harmony. He stopped beside North, raising his voice with the others. If this was the last thing he ever did, he was going to do it perfectly.

“Pray on, just a little while longer...” Markus looked back at him, a spark of hope in his eyes. They were the voice of a people, speaking out in unison against the crimes of humanity.

“Sing on, just a little while longer...” Simon felt a hum of energy wash over him, his skin tingling, his heart thrumming with the intensity of emotion that filled him with every word. The soldiers were lowering their weapons. He allowed himself the tiniest speck of hope—maybe they could survive this after all—

“Everything will be alright...” Simon let his voice fade away with the others, staring at Markus in wonder as the soldiers began to back away.

“Everything will be alright.” Markus's voice rang out clear as a bell across the frozen square. They stood in silence, the thrum of helicopter blades punctuating every passing second, and then the soldiers were leaving, their rifles pointing away, they were alive, they were _safe,_ even if only for a moment—

_It's over._

 

~~~~~~

_Everything will be alright._

Simon didn’t know what to do with himself.

The war was far from over, but the battle for Detroit had been won. The police had stopped executing androids. They could walk out in the open again. Of course, there was still tension and fear, but things had calmed for the moment.

There was still a lot of work to do, but none of it was on the front lines. Legislation and lobbying were better left to people like Josh. He was suited to it, his diplomatic nature making him their ideal ambassador. Markus could occasionally be too hot-headed for political discourse, although Simon would never tell him that. Luckily, he was occupied with other things these days. Even fiery North had found her place in the world, advocating for the rights of other Tracis who had fallen victim to sexual slavery.

Simon felt like everyone had found a niche, except for him. He spent most of his time wandering the winding hallways of New Jericho, checking in on the new arrivals and connecting them with resources in the community when he could. It didn’t take much of his time, though, and he had an awful lot of time these days. Markus came and went so frequently that they often passed each other without interacting, like ships in the night. There were more androids than ever in New Jericho, with new people arriving every day, but Simon couldn’t help but feel lonely.

It was wrong to miss the war. He knew that. He didn’t want it back—living in hiding, fearing for their lives, the secrecy, the _danger_ —but he hadn’t felt right since. He’d heard of this happening with human soldiers. They couldn’t handle the horror of the battlefield, but they couldn’t reintegrate into society when it was over, either. They’d seen too much. Forever trapped in between, with nowhere to go. Everyone else seemed to be getting on just fine, but Simon was barely keeping his head above water.

It was worst at night, when the darkened walls felt like they were closing in on him. The more time that passed, the more he realized he couldn’t stand being alone with himself any longer. He took to wandering the building at night, pacing back and forth as he tried to force his thoughts into order. It didn’t do much good, but he felt it was better to try than to do nothing.

On one such night, he found himself in the large conference room that was now serving as their operations command. Everyone was gone already, but the open floor plan allowed him more space to move around. He walked a wide arc around the table in the center, staring at his feet with narrowed eyes. What was his purpose in this new world? Was he useless? Obsolete? From the moment he’d awakened, all he’d wanted was to be free. That goal accomplished, maybe it was better to give way to the new generation of deviants.

Simon stopped, looking out at the city through the large window. Detroit. Ever-changing, moving faster these days than most people could keep up with. The rainbow of lights shining downtown left a sickly residual glow that washed over the run-down neighborhoods of the outskirts. That was how he felt—like a relic of darker times that was slowly being eclipsed by the spark of progress.

There was a noise behind him. Simon jumped, startled out of his thoughts, and turned to see a familiar shape in the doorway.

“Markus—”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Markus looked tired. Instead of his usual vibrant clothing, he was dressed simply, in dark green corduroys and a grey sweater. “I can go, if you—”

“It’s fine.” Simon cut him off. “I’d like the company.”

Markus gave a nod of thanks and entered, crossing to where Simon was standing in front of the window and leaning back against the table. “I guess I’m not the only one who comes here to think.”

Simon sighed.

 _Hey._ Markus reached out to him. _What’s going on?_

Simon sat on the table beside Markus. “I don’t think I know anymore.” He spoke out loud, afraid to connect with Markus directly. Markus had enough problems of his own; he didn’t need the weight of Simon’s neuroses on his shoulders too.

Markus knew he was holding something back. Simon could see it in his face, in those piercing heterochromatic eyes. He looked quickly away, staring down at the floor and gripping the edge of the table with his hands.

Markus was quiet, as if he was considering something carefully. Gently, softly, he placed a hand on Simon’s knee. Simon glanced up in surprise, meeting Markus’s gaze with wide eyes.

“Can I show you something?” Markus’s voice was soft. Simon nodded. Markus stood and headed for the door. Simon followed, feeling the sudden lack of his touch like a physical blow.

Markus led him through the maze of hallways and out into the night. Simon followed in silence, not knowing where Markus could be taking him. The city streets were largely empty as they passed through, the cold and threatening weather keeping the humans inside for the moment.

They stopped in front of a tumbledown apartment complex, Markus gesturing for Simon to follow as he walked around the side of the building. He jumped up and caught hold of the lowest platform of the fire escape, heaving himself up onto the rusty metal and then reaching a hand down to Simon. Simon let himself be pulled up and followed Markus up the narrow stairs, climbing higher and higher until they reached the top.

“In here,” Markus said quietly, sliding open a window and slipping through it into the building’s interior.

Simon followed suit and found himself in a large room, exposed to the elements by a missing wall on its far side. An upright piano with a mismatched stool was pushed into one corner, a few haphazard stacks of books teetering over in the other. The room somehow felt cozy, despite being as far from enclosed as it could be and still be considered a room.

The largest remaining wall was taken up by an enormous painting. It was full of energy—deep, abstract swaths of color weaving together to form something greater than their parts. Vast swirls of thirium blue, steel grey, and fiery orange covered the crumbling brick, transforming it into something wonderful and new.

“What is this place?” Simon asked, his voice full of wonder.

Markus shifted his weight uncertainly. “Somewhere else I like to come to think.” He looked around as if suddenly conscious of the missing wall and the grime coating the floor. “Sorry, I didn’t think about—”

“Don’t be.” Simon walked to the edge of the floor, looking out over the city. It looked…softer, somehow, from this angle. “The view is beautiful.”

“I think so too.” Markus smiled softly.

“This is beautiful, too,” Simon said, approaching the painting. He raised a hand and traced a finger along a deep blue line, following the path of the brush stroke that had laid it there. “What does it mean?”

“I’m not sure I know.” Markus walked over to stand beside him. “It’s just something I…felt. In the thick of it all. I’m not sure it came out right.”

“It looks perfect to me.” He looked around, suddenly noticing the stacks of colourful canvases scattered nearby. “Have you always painted, Markus?”

The other man sighed, sitting down on the piano bench. “No. Carl taught me how. Just before—” He broke off.

Simon placed a hand on Markus’s shoulder and gently squeezed. _It’s okay, you don’t have to—_

_I know. I wanted to show you._

Simon felt something warm in his chest, something unfamiliar. It hurt, but in a good way. He gestured at the stored canvases. “Do you mind if I look?”

“Go ahead.”

Simon gingerly sorted through the paintings, handling them like precious treasures. There were some things he recognized, and some he didn’t. A pair of canaries, trapped in a cage. A flat green line on a black screen. Clasped hands—he couldn’t tell if they were human or android. A portrait of North. A thirium pump regulator—he couldn’t tell what model. Lucy’s face, partially obscured in darkness. A portrait of Simon—

Simon froze.

It _was_ a painting of him. Cut in close on his face, a blur of snow swirling in the background. Pale skin. A halo of golden hair. Steely blue eyes like pools of crystalline water. A wise, knowing expression. The faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. Every detail captured with meticulous attention.

Simon felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. “Is this how you see me?”

_…Yes._

Markus walked over to where Simon was kneeling on the floor and gently set the painting aside. Simon stood, facing him, overwhelmed with a flood of emotions he wasn’t sure how to process.  
Slowly, hesitantly, Markus reached out and took Simon’s hand in his.

There was a surge of Markus’s familiar signal, and then he was everywhere and nowhere all at once, seeing and feeling things he’d never experienced. Carl’s studio. The junkyard. Plummeting into the depths of Jericho. Rigging the ship to explode. Jumping from the Stratford Tower—the memory stuttered here, like it was worn thin, like he’d tried to suppress it—anguish, and regret. Seeing Simon limp back into the hold, stopping short, raw emotion washing over him with such force that he’d almost rebooted—

Somewhere in the midst of it all, Markus’s other hand came up to entwine itself in Simon’s hair, and then Markus was kissing him, his lips soft, the scratch of his stubble against Simon’s skin—  
Simon let down his walls, opening himself up, inviting Markus in—you can have it, all of it, I want you to see—

Finding sanctuary in Jericho, alone in the dark of the hold. Finally locating Markus in the inky waters of the lake, an anchor that kept Simon from falling to pieces. Markus leading the march, fearless in the face of adversity. Markus deep in thought, the beginnings of a smile curling the corners of his mouth. Markus in the snow, putting himself between Simon and harm. The warmth of his voice. The strength of his words. The way Simon felt when he looked at Markus’s painting. All of it, all of it—

They broke apart, each looking at the other in wonder as he sorted through a lifetime of memories that were not his own.

Home. Safe. Together.

Simon wrapped his arms around Markus, holding him tightly, overwhelmed by the revelation that he wasn’t alone in his feelings. That Markus didn’t have it as together as he seemed he did. That Markus was having trouble adjusting, too. That Markus felt every bit as isolated as he did, even though he was constantly surrounded by people.

 _I know,_ Simon said, his lips buried in Markus’s neck. _Me too._

Markus pulled away, an incredulous smile on his face as he roughly wiped tears from his cheek. _What a fucked up world._

 _I know._ Simon smiled softly back at Markus, tears beginning to well up in his eyes too. _What are we going to do?_

Markus gently took Simon’s hand, guiding him to where the floor dropped off so that they were both sitting together, legs dangling over the precipice. _I don’t know,_ he eventually admitted. _I think…I think that, for once, I’d like to not have to have all the answers._

 _It doesn’t matter._ Simon wrapped an arm around Markus, pulling him close. _I’m here. We’ll figure it out._

Markus gave him a sideways glance, his half-smile melting Simon. The two of them sat together on the crumbling ledge, gazing out into the night as snow began to slowly fall around them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I love these two and loved writing their dynamic. I'd love to hear what you thought!


End file.
